Different Worlds
by AxidentlGoddess
Summary: 3 yrs have passed since COR. And now Riddick's in the thick of it again. A plot, hunters, and a strange woman from somewhere he's never heard of. Now the question is, who are the hunters really after? Him...or her? OFC.


AN: Welcome to my first Riddick fic. This was a notion I've had stewing for a little bit...not entirely sure how well it's gonna work out in the long run, but we'll see.

Disclaimer: I have no rights to Pitch Black, The Cronicals of Riddick, or anything that lies there in. (Damn it.) The story and the OCs, however, are _aaaalllll_ mine. So ha.

Summery: Three years have passed since the dramatic end ofCOR. Three years of ordinary life and things running smoothly. Ruling the Necros. Furia being rebuilt. And now Riddick's in the thick of it again. There's a plot, and hunters, and a strange woman from somewhere he's never heard of. Now the question is, who are the hunters really after? Him...or her? OC.

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**Different Worlds**

**Chapter 1**

Riddick suppressed a sigh as he leaned his head back against the too white wall of his cell. _Gee, God, I knew you hated me but isn't this taking it a bit far? _

It was ironic, there really wasn't another word for it. For the last three years, things had been going relatively well in his life, all things considered. It was quiet, at least, basically peaceful. There hadn't been any major catastrophes or new bounties on his head. No one was chasing him for just about the first time in his life. It was kind of a new thing for him. He should have known it couldn't last.

After he had killed the Lord Martial Riddick had found himself the leader of a Necromonger army thanks to their whole 'you keep what you kill' bullshit. It had seemed like a good idea at first. An entire society of fighters and killers, an entire army at his fingertips. Very appealing. For about a week. After that reality started to sink in. Riddick wasn't a leader, he was just the opposite. He was a loner. He took care of himself and fuck the rest. Sure, he'd been shoved into leadership positions in the past—after the Hunter-Grazner crash, escaping Crematoria—but they were short lived and mostly he wasn't really leading, people were just following. It was still him taking care of him, just that he let a few others tag along behind. What the fuck did he know about leading an army?

As a little added bonus, it seemed that the compulsion placed in Necromongers when they were converted was directly tied to whoever happens to be the Lord Martial of the time. He didn't know how they did it, or what the fuck it even was, but somehow his effectively taking the job had somehow changed it. Apparently this was the first time in their history that someone who wasn't already a convert had taken over and it had had some interesting affects.

It appeared that a large number of the current converts were actually Furian, something like eighty-two percent, which made some sense considering that they were the ones that attacked Furia in the first place. According to Aeryon it explained why this batch of Necros were such fierce fighters, able to expand farther quicker than any before them. And apparently having a Furian on the throne effectively freed them from the constraints the conversion had put on them. Riddick couldn't help but smirk at that. He remembered thinking that if the universe couldn't handle just one of him then it was really about to shit its pants.

He had to admit to being surprised at just how many of them were male, like the Purifier, considering everything he'd heard about the Lord Marital slaughtering the boys to keep one from killing him. Guess he followed the motto of keeping your enemies closer. According to Aeryon he must have trusted the Necro mark and compulsion of obedience that went with it to protect him. Bastard probably laughed himself to sleep at night knowing that his destined enemy was sitting clawless and obedient at his feet.

_A fat fuckin' lot of good that did him, _Riddick couldn't help but smirk, though there was no humor in it. Riddick didn't usually take a whole lot of pleasure in killing, despite what people said about it. When he did it, it was just something he had to do. Survival. When killing an enemy, though, there was usually some kind of sense of accomplishment. Not this time. No, this time the price had been too high.

_Kyra…_

Riddick closed his eyes behind his goggles and felt his jaw clench as the pain that had barely seemed to dim in the last three years surged back full force. He could still remember it with perfect clarity…the scent of her blood, the look on her face, the single tear… It haunted him. With all the terrible things he'd seen and done in his life the one, lasting nightmare was that very scene, when the only person to ever really love him died. Died to save him. And he was powerless to stop it.

He'd sworn to protect her. Done all he could, all he knew how to make sure that happened. She was the first person to ever truly see _him. _Not the myth. Not the monster. Just him. She accepted him, took him as he was, and never asked him to apologize for it. Even Eman, the only man he'd trusted, one of his few true friends, had wanted to 'help' him. Riddick lost count of the number of times the Holy man tried to get Riddick to pray with him, to reform him in some way or anther. But not Jack.

When he had met her as Jack back on that desert planet he'd thought she was just another kid with a slightly twisted form of hero worship. In the months that had followed their escape, before he'd left, he'd realized it was more. Eman hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said she looked to him like an older brother. Suddenly he had found himself with the need to protect her, and not one fuckin' clue as to how to do it. He knew there were Mercs after him, the bounty only kept getting higher and higher. Sooner or later they would have tracked him down to New Mecca. Sooner or later they would have realized what she meant to him. He knew Mercs, they had no honor, no code of ethics. It was all about the paycheck. They wouldn't hesitate to use her to get to him.

So he had left. It was the only thing he could think to do. He didn't know how to protect anyone, not really. The only thing that seemed to make any sense to him was to get as far away from her as possible, not let the Mercs find her. He thought it was the right decision, the only decision. And he cursed himself every single day for it.

He hadn't factored in Jack's spirit or how freakin' relentless she could be. She'd gone looking for him, and that had been the beginning of the end. He'd failed her, failed to protect her. He'd though distance was all he needed, he was so wrong. He knew the things she'd suffered before she got thrown in the Slam. And yet, when he found her again, he couldn't help but be proud of her, of the way she'd grown up. She took care of herself, she'd gotten tough, but he could still see that little girl somewhere in her eyes. His little sister. He'd been planning on running with her when he got them out. Fuck the Necros, they could get far enough away. But once again, he'd been mistaken.

Shit, it seemed like all he did was make mistakes. At least, when it came to her. And now…now she was gone. He'd failed her again.

Those first days had been hard, harder than he ever thought possible. Shockingly enough, it had been Vakko of all people that had helped him through it. Vakko, he had to admit, was a born leader. He, too, had been changed somewhat by the compulsion and he was loyal, so loyal it was sickening.. He wasn't Furian born, though he may as well have been. He'd been willing to try to kill the former Lord Martial because he'd shown himself to be weak, and he'd decided that Riddick was anything but. If you wanted to get down to it, Vakko was the one who really held the army together in the day to day business, and if it weren't for the fact that Riddick would have to die to make it happen he might have just well _given_ the army to him.

Riddick still didn't trust his snake of a wife though, not any farther than he could fling a shiv. Talk about one sneaky, conniving bitch.

Once he got his legs under him again, shoving the aguish of his loss to the background, Riddick found himself with a problem. A big one. What the fuck was he going to do with a bunch of Necros? He'd been tempted to just split, but something had held him back. He couldn't quite say what, but every time he turned to slip into the night it was like there was a gentle hand on his chest, stopping him. Like whatever it was wanted him to stay, like there was something for him to do there. He didn't understand it and he didn't like it. But he stayed.

Somehow they had ended up on Furia. Through some truly artful and sneaky riffling of the Necromancer Religious texts Aeryon had been able to find just what she needed to make it possible. Something about how only through life could the Underverse be achieved, something that had been interpreted before to mean that only through the _cleansing_ of life. She had managed to reinterpret it to mean something entirely different.

"_Now heed me, my children, for my words are Truth. The Underverse, that great realm of peace and reward which awaits all true souls in due time, can only be reached through the fulfillment of life's purpose. Only once a life is truly fulfilled may the Threshold be crossed to that great reward. Cleanse thyselves and let thy purity awash the heavens to guide the way. Only when the fire burns brightest can it light the way as each life will light the path to the Threshold. And there shall peace and joy reign everlasting."_

That was the passage. Riddick remembered it well, it had been repeated to him often enough. As far as he was concerned it was just more religious rhetoric, and like every other kind to come before it, just as convoluted and open to interpretation. Aeryon managed to interpret it in a completely new way, to mean to worship life, to protect and serve it. And where better to do that then Furia…a world that had once done just that. The new interpretation combined with the new compulsion and the 'freeing' of the Furians within the ranks had created something of a dramatic shift in thought. No longer were the purifiers babbling on about cleansing the life from the universe in order populate the Underverse. Instead, they were babbling on about how only a cleansed life will be bright enough to find the Underverse. Same song, different tune.

For the past three years they had been rebuilding Furia as the very fabric of their society shifted. It wasn't all tequila and lime, either. There were some zealots that wanted to cling to the old ways, no matter how much evidence was brought to light about how the texts had been twisted in the past. And it wasn't like the Necros were used to building a society, they were more used to tearing them down. But they managed…and shocked the shit out of everyone as they proceeded to succeed. Riddick included.

Not that they had given up their fighting ways, oh no. After all, they were on Furia now. They'd just…shifted. Furia had always been a warrior society, or so he was told. Not that he knew anything about it. Much to the consternation of, well, just about everyone.

The fact of the matter was, Riddick was bored. And getting pretty well sick of it. He wasn't meant to rule or lead or whatever it was they wanted him to do. He missed the freedom, he missed the thrill. He sure as hell didn't miss the Mercs on his neck but he figured, hey,you couldn't have it all. He was going fucking stir crazy staying in one place for three years but every time the urge came to just cut strings and leave there was that damn hand on his chest.

If he ever found the person connected to that hand he was going to separate the two.

Perhaps that was why he had let them convince him to come on this fool's mission. He should have known better. He wasn't a diplomat any more than he was a great leader, and his negotiation skills tended to consist of sharp objects and menacing scowls. Now here he was, locked in a disturbingly sanitary cell in the heart of Alliance territory.

_Diplomatic immunity my ass._

The bitch of it was, he hadn't even done anything. He hadn't broken any laws, hadn't fucked the president's daughter, he hadn't even spit on the sidewalk. This was a set up, pure and simple. He just couldn't decide why. Were they trying to start a war? With whom? Furia? The Necros? The FSP who requested his presence in the first place? Any of them were up for grabs. After all, the Alliance was kind of the opposite of what the Necros had been. Where they sought to create death and destruction the Alliance sought to bring peace and order…whether you wanted it or not. Not that they'd start a fight, oh no, they were far too civilized for that. They'd just get you to and then come in and take over.

Or was the high and mighty Federation of Sentient Planets trying to get rid of him? It certainly wasn't a secret that they weren't pleased that the number one criminal in their territory, the one who had been violating and escaping their laws for thirty years was now the leader of one of the most feared armies in the quadrant and technically the Sovereign Prime of Furia.

He was going over possibilities as he stared at the bars across from him. They were made of a metal called Orin, a composite that was damn near unbreakable. The bars themselves were planted into the ground and ceiling, at least a foot in either direction, and separated the back half of the room he was in into two. The white room. The very white room. The very clean white room. Riddick had been in his fair share of prisons, jails, and detainment facilities in his time—probably more than his fair share—but he had never been in one as clean as this. There was just something…_wrong_…about being imprisoned in such a sterile environment. It just went against the order of the universe.

Thoughts of universal order ground to a halt, however, when the door to the un-caged part of the room opened and two guards stepped in. Dragging a body between them. He watched silently, the only movement that betrayed his interest hidden behind the goggles they'd so _kindly_ let him keep, as they unlocked the other cell with some kind of electronic key and tossed the new meat in none too gently where he, she, or it lay prone and unmoving. Unconscious.

_Oh joy, company._

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AN: Well, there's the very first installmet. Kind of slow, I know, but I had to get some of that background stuff out of the way. And hey, you wanted to know what happened during those three years, right? Don't worry, it'll pick up and get more interesting. Let me know what you think, and don't worry, I always respond to reviewers on my next post. Til then! R&R! 


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